


Embers in the Sky

by Destiny_in_the_Universe



Series: Falling from the Ashes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt No Comfort, I am so sorry, Mild Blood, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Whump, Mycroft has scars, Poor Mycroft, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 17:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16602290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_in_the_Universe/pseuds/Destiny_in_the_Universe
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has been held captive for a very long time, but is there any chance he might be rescued?"Damaged people are dangerous. They know how to make hell feel like home."- Anonymous





	Embers in the Sky

Choking his captive, Cyrus held the eldest Holmes sibling down, smiling as the government clawed desperately to free himself. He purred, leaning forwards to whisper in his pet’s ear. 

 

“You don’t really expect you’ll be saved, do you?” Cyrus crooned, sneering sharply. 

 

Mycroft snarled weakly, his eyes clouding over. He was still trying to escape the grip, his hands trying to push Cyrus’ palms away from his neck. The man gasped for air as he was released, rolling onto his side, coughing harshly. 

 

“I… will-” Mycroft’s words ended with a cry as he was kicked sharply across his already bruised, cracked ribs. Wheezing, he curled into a fetal position, hands flying up to try and cover his hand from the kick that was sure to follow. 

 

Cyrus snarled, “do you really think they’ll find you? You will always be my-” 

 

The torturer gasped as a hand closed around his wrist, before Cyrus was thrown away, the man’s body hitting the wall. Standing over him was a very angry, snarling,  _ Sherlock.  _

 

“You will never touch my brother again!” Sherlock spat as he easily towered over Cyrus before delivering a few swift kicks and aiming for a pressure point to render the kidnapper immobile. The consulting detective bared his teeth briefly before rushing over to Mycroft’s side. 

 

“Sher-” Mycroft coughed up blood, his head swimming with pain. He hissed sharply when his younger brother picked him up. Everything hurt, the slightest movement making it worse. 

 

“Mycroft, can you stand?” Sherlock asked in a surprisingly softened voice. 

 

Mycroft panted, refraining from crying out as he felt a sudden jolt course through his leg. Despite this, he tried to get out of Sherlock’s hold, determined not to allow his brother to see how much pain he was really in. 

 

“Of… course I can,” the older Holmes smiled sardonically. He was mildly shocked when Sherlock let him stand. He barely managed to get three steps forward before he suddenly went down and his sibling pulled him back up. 

 

“Idiot. It’s obvious you can’t walk so why bother? It’ll only make it worse,” Sherlock chided, though his voice wasn’t condescending. It was almost like he was worried, but surely… 

 

“Sherlock… how long ha-have I be-been gone?” 

 

The grip on Mycroft tightened as soon as the question was asked. Sherlock lowly growled, before finally answering. 

 

“A month…” the consultant breathed as he carefully made his way out of the building where his brother had been held and tortured. “You- You were gone for so long,” he breathed, before he suddenly frowned. “Mycroft? Mycroft!” 

 

Mycroft suddenly groaned as he jerked in his brother’s arms, almost convulsing. He gasped before ultimately going still, having passed out. 

 

Growling lowly, Sherlock barked at the cab driver, “get going! Now!” 

 

Mycroft didn’t move, completely out of it. He hadn’t even fully registered the fact that he was already rescued, believing that it had been the result of some rather hazy dream. He’d been stuck with Cyrus for far too long and a delusion of escaping was one of the few things helping him cope. 

 

The ride to the hospital was done in a rapid, frantic haste. Sherlock spent the majority of the time keeping silent, sometimes making sure that his brother was still breathing. As much as he refused to admit it, he never expected to see  _ Mycroft  _ of all people in such a terrible state. Their last conversation had been a terrible argument because Sherlock got infuriated over being followed on a case. 

 

Gritting his teeth, the consultant stepped out of the cab, carrying his unconscious sibling in his arms. Sherlock scowled deeply, before making a mental check of all the injuries and possible scars that Mycroft sustained during his capture. 

 

Mycroft shouldn’t be as hurt as he was, being the brother who had always been there for Sherlock, even with their difficult disagreements. He had shown up one night when Sherlock had overdosed on drugs, having rushed him to the hospital. He’d defended his  _ younger brother  _ from bullies, not caring when he began sporting bruises and injuries afterwards. 

 

“You’ll be okay,” Sherlock hissed. “You won’t-” he choked on a growl as he saw a doctor approach them, leading them to one of the rooms. Adjusting his scarf, he sat down, biting back a gasp as he saw the sudden scar on Mycroft’s shoulder. Eyes flashing with anger, the consultant excused himself and went to the bathroom, his hands curling into tight fists. 

 

“I would never ask this upon you, Mycroft.” Sherlock muttered. 

 

_ “What did you expect would happen?!” Cyrus barked, slamming Mycroft into the wall.  _

 

_ Mycroft yelped in pain, his body shaking as his eyes were wide and sharp, already knowing what was coming. He gasped, screaming in pain as the knife dug into his shoulder, reopening wounds. The man could barely handle it for much longer, just barely managing to grit his teeth when he was thrown to the ground and landed on his shoulder.  _

 

_ “Let… m-me go,” he hissed, eyes darkening when a kick was aimed at his ribs, followed by another to his head. His vision swam, black circles dancing in his line of sight. The auburn-haired male coughed sharply, spitting up blood. He had been trying to cover his head, but the strain to lift up his arm had proven too difficult.  _

 

_ “You tried… to escape.” Cyrus snarled, beginning to choke his captive.  _

 

_ In a sudden state of pure, sudden panic, Mycroft gagged sharply, clawing at his kidnapper’s arms. This couldn’t be how he died. What about Sherlock?  _

 

_ “... please, just… le-let me-  _ **_please._ ** ” 

 

Mycroft screamed suddenly, waking up in a panic-induced state. His breathing was shallow and his hands were actually trembling. Panting between trying to take gasps, he found extremely hard to focus on where he was. 

 

“Wh… Where am….?” The man whimpered, shaking still. 

 

The doctor who was attending to him merely smiled sadly. He looked directly into Mycroft’s currently terrified blue eyes. 

 

“Don’t worry. You’re safe.” 

 

“I’m not safe! I never will be! … he won’t ever let me go.” Mycroft breathed. 


End file.
